Magic and Markers
by quiffed
Summary: Sirius, like most juvenile delinquents, is also a keen graffiti artist. Marauder Era.


Remus's eyes open suddenly, and he looks straight into the dark brown eyes of someone leaning over his bed. Remus makes a strangled noise and shoots bolt upright, making the someone scream and topple over backwards, landing on the floor. There is silence for a few seconds, during which Remus's heart rate slows down considerably. He peers over the side of his bed to see his best friend lying on his back on the carpet, looking as innocent as pumpkin pie. Sirius is wearing James's faded red boxer shorts and a supremely unconcerned expression.

"Bloody hell, Pads!"

"Mmm?" Sirius raises a hand to his face and examines his fingernails, not looking at Remus. Remus rolls his eyes.

"What, are you trying to pretend that you _didn't_ just scream like a girl, even though I was actually the one woken up? From an extremely disturbing dream, I might add." Sirius sits up, mildly interested. He's carrying a large black marker, for some unfathomable reason.

"Why was your dream disturbing?"

"It had you in it," Remus retorts, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning hugely. Sirius scowls.

"I wasn't trying to wake you up," he protests, clambering onto the bed. "Or hex you," he adds, seeing Remus's sceptical expression. He waves the fat black marker in the other boy's face. "In fact, if you really want to know, Wormtail is now sporting a charming little Hitler moustache, spectacles, and fake eyebrows bushier than Kingsley Shacklebolt's. Prongs, on the other hand, has a goatee, an I LOVE SNIVELLY tattoo, and an excessive amount of chest hair."

Remus sighs heavily, imagining the scene in the common room later. None of the Marauders are exactly morning people, and it is highly unlikely that either James or Peter will think to check a mirror before going downstairs. Sirius is beaming at Remus gleefully, obviously extremely impressed with himself.

"It doesn't wash off, does it?" Remus asks hopefully. Maybe he can rectify the problem early on. That is, before too much blood is shed. Sirius, however, looks highly offended.

"What do you take me for? Course not."

"Oh, I see." Remus wonders what Sirius had had in mind for _his_ transformation. Drawn-on sideburns, no doubt. A beauty spot. Maybe even some faux eyeliner. Remus is suddenly grateful for the mild insomnia that comes with the lycanthropy.

"Can I come under the covers? I'm freezing." Sirius, not waiting for an answer, slides in between the sheets and cuddles up to Remus, flinging a bare arm round his neck. Remus can feel the warmth of Sirius's body through his flannel shirt – he, of course, is properly dressed in grey pyjamas– and oddly enough, it makes him shiver.

"Are you going to spend the whole night here?"

"Don't like sleeping alone," Sirius responds, nuzzling his head into Remus's chest. Remus's heart starts beating faster again.

"Why didn't you sneak into the girls' dormitory? I'm sure you would be welcomed with open arms…"

"Don't be a wanker," Sirius interrupts, his voice muffled by Remus's chest. He snuggles down further and rests his soft head in Remus's lap. Remus stiffens. Clearing his throat, he tugs gently at Sirius's tousled black hair.

"You can't just call me a wanker and expect me not to throw you out of my bed." Sirius doesn't move.

"Wanker."

"Look, you-"

"Wanker!"

"This is extremely imma-"

"Waaaanker." Sirius singsongs softly. Remus glares at him.

"Right, that's it. Get out."

Sirius sits up, but instead of climbing out of bed, he begins to quickly unbutton Remus's shirt. One of his bitten fingernails scratches the skin on Remus's chest.

"What are you doing?" Remus hisses. Sirius examines his stomach intently, then picks up the black marker and waves it at him malevolently. Remus hurriedly attempts to shrug his shirt back on.

"No thanks, I don't want any scribbled chest hair."

"I'm not-"

"_Or_ man breasts." Sirius pouts, like he always does when he doesn't get his way. It should be annoying, not endearing, but Sirius just looks so _adorable_.

"I'm giving you a tattoo."

"I don't want one. They're ugly. And they're not rock and roll, no matter how much you pretend they are."

"Prongs nearly got one."

"Prongs was extremely drunk, and I managed to rescue him at the last second, before he did something stupid that he was obviously going to regret."

"So now, instead of the name of the girl he loves, he has an L-shaped scar on his bicep. Yeah, that's much better. Stop being a twat, Moony. I pierced your ear for you, remember? And this isn't even going to hurt."

"It's still permanent."

"Moony, you twat. D'you honestly think I'd let Peter run around with a Hitler moustache for the rest of his life? It'd be amusing for a few months, but –"

"You said it wasn't washable."

"I've got this charm that'll get it off, I swear. Please let me tattoo you, please."

Sirius tries tactic number two; his pleading face. His eyes go all big and round, and his lower lip trembles. He looks exactly like a puppy that's just been kicked. Remus sometimes wishes he could kick him, hard, but he gives in.

"As long as it's somewhere no-one's going to see it."

Sirius brightens instantly, and uncaps the marker. Remus, closes his eyes, marvelling at Sirius's persuasive abilities, but they shoot open again when he feels a hand tugging at the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

"Padfoot!" Sirius glances up innocently, holding the marker in his fist. Remus makes an indecipherable noise, whether of protest or consent he doesn't know.

"You said to put it somewhere where no-one's going to see!"

"Yes, I did," Remus replies, pulling his trousers up hastily, "but Pads, where exactly _is_ that? My arse?"

"Do you _want_ a tattoo on your arse?" Sirius asks, his eyes gleaming wickedly in the dim light. Remus shakes his head, horrified.

"Thought not. Just… trust me, ok?" Without waiting for Remus's consent, Sirius yanks the pyjamas down over Remus's left hip and begins to trace a shape onto the smooth white skin. Remus looks down at his hip anxiously and yelps.

"That's a _heart_!"

"Point being?"

"It's… not masculine! Not masculine at _all_!" Remus has to force himself to be quiet, so as not to wake the other occupants of the dorm. The only thing more humiliating than having a loveheart tattoo would be to have a heart tattoo and have all the Gryffindor boys know about it.

"Well, at least no-one's going to see it, right?" Sirius reasons infuriatingly. Remus watches him printing his surname vertically onto the heart. L-U-P-I-N. Sirius pauses, and puts a B beside the L on its left side. To the right of the L, he puts an A. Glancing upwards, he catches Remus's eye, who looks away quickly.

"You'd better _not_ look," Sirius warns. Remus lies back on his pillow and sighs. He can feel the cool ink of the marker etching patterns onto his skin, and it's extremely disconcerting not to know what's going on. Finally after prodding at him for a full minute, Sirius is finished.

"Take a look, mate."

Remus sits up gingerly, so as not to smudge the ink. The (very feminine) heart has a frilly edging all the way around its edge, and Sirius has drawn an arrow through it, which has been made surprisingly sharp and pointy, considering. In the middle of the heart are two very familiar names, intertwined and written in fancy lettering. Remus's eyes widen. The names are Lupin, and Blake.

"You and all your mad Muggle poets," Sirius remarks fondly. Remus nods, staring at his hip with a dazed expression.

"My mad Muggle poets and I," he says faintly. He pulls up his trousers and looks bemusedly at Sirius, who is preoccupied with trying to fit the lid of the marker back on.

"Pads, I really think you should go to bed now."

Ten minutes later, Remus hears a planitive voice coming from the direction of Sirius's four-poster.

"I'm _bored_."

Remus ignores this, and tries to get back to sleep. A couple of seconds go by, then he hears the voice again.

"Hey, Moony, you awake?"

"_Yes_," Remus mutters, not opening his eyes. "What is it now?"

"Oh… nothing." There is a short pause, and a giggle. "Wanker."

Remus decides whether to respond or not. He knows that if he doesn't, it's very likely he will wake up to his own Hitler moustache and a wild and varied array of tattoos. But if he does, he'll risk losing a few more brain cells out of sheer exasperation. Sighing to himself, Remus rolls over and falls asleep to have a few more disturbing dreams.


End file.
